


When You Were Younger

by AnxiousCoffee (TheHallowedAngel)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove is a Mess, Bullying, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt Steve Harrington, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Slash, Sickfic, Spoilers, Steve Gets Beat Up, Tags May Change, Underage Smoking, Vomiting, Whump, it's gonna get gay i swear, not necessarily a sickfic but yeah, there's some sorta graphic descriptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 09:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20172265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHallowedAngel/pseuds/AnxiousCoffee
Summary: Steve grew up with absent parents but Billy grew up with a father who was all too there. Is it possible that maybe they can come to help each other? No one is a lost cause, it just takes a little more time and someone who loves them enough to try.





	When You Were Younger

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to bring their relationship together over a few chapters and work it up to romance, but I want to have Billy heal a little first, and I want Steve to learn how to help him. There's some canon-typical bullying and ass-kicking in here, and some mentions of throwing up(somewhat graphic, but not over the top), so read at your own discretion. It's also worth noting I wrote this from about half one in the morning because I couldn't sleep and it was raining, so forgive any mistakes as I am a fool and I have no beta. Otherwise, enjoy <3
> 
> Also, I went with Stephen over Steven because I believe Stephen is the more traditional spelling and Steven is the modern version, but also I just like it more ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Ever since he had stood outside of that house, covered in tears, blood, and whatever it was that came out of that beast he had smacked around the head, he had woken up with a taste on his tongue that he didn’t know the sound of. It was bitter and sour and thick and all sorts of heavy all at once, and he would have to throw the sheets from his body- creased and drenched in sweat -to run for the bathroom down the hall.

The house was always empty but it always felt bigger when he was braced over the toilet and throwing up everything in his stomach. He had started to lose weight, not enough for people to notice, but enough that he had needed to buckle his belt one hole more, and his shirts seemed to feel weird against his hollowed out stomach. Any amount of exercise left him breathless, long hours in boring classes had him falling asleep, and every time someone put their foot to the ground even a little too hard he would jump out of his skin so hard that his bones hurt and his blood felt too heavy for his veins.

And then Billy turned up, 5’10 and full of the sort of rage Steve knew for a fact was the product of a parent that had never quite loved you the right way, second-hand anger that left palms twitching and tempers short. He had been the same way for most of middle school, always giving short and snappy answers to the kids who never did him any more wrong than just being there, getting into fights over nothing, and resenting every single one of the kids that got picked up by their parents. He had grown out of it, obviously, long since stopped caring about going home to an empty house and having to fend for himself, but Billy’s anger seemed deeper rooted and much more fragile, like it was the only thing stopping him from breaking down every time he blinked.

Every day at school became a fight with himself and with the dawning realisation that this was going to be his life until he either finished high school or came to some unfortunate end. He preferred the former, naturally, but every time Billy shoved him into the lockers or made some backhanded comment about his appearance or his withering purpose at school, well, the thought of getting struck down by a car on his way to school became more and more comforting. Each time he tucked himself away in a cubicle to change into his gym clothes he would be shaking at the thought of stepping onto the court and facing Billy on a level that meant he could shove him to the ground and have no questions asked.

The bruises from a few days ago were only just starting to heal and he could already feel the ones from today, skin crawling and blood pulsing and lungs freezing at the very image of it all.

_ Suck it up, Stephen, you’re a big boy now. _

His mother had said exactly that when he told her over the phone that billy had almost broken his wrist and he had mentioned no more since then, tending to cuts and bruises alone.

He shook his head free of ever thought, free of the images of Billy’s sneering grin and the contrast of pain in his blue eyes, begging someone to free him from this cycle of turning on everyone for fear of being betrayed again. Free of fear.

And he waited until the chatter outside of his little safe space had died down as everyone filed out of the room, leaving only as soon as he knew he was alone-

Or as soon as he had thought he was alone, anyway.

Waiting on one of the benches by the lockers was Billy, arms resting on his thighs and hands clasped together, head turned towards Steve just enough to watch him move like some predatory animal, just waiting to pounce on him and tear out his throat. Steve swallowed something between fear and dread and stupidly let his mouth run words he had no control over.

“What are you sat there for, Hargrove? Perving?” his voice was light and danced around how close he was to actually pissing his pants, the narrowed eyes of Billy Hargrove close to those of the men he saw on TV, above some description of how they had lured some poor person to their death. He walked towards the other boy with a definite amount of safety, leaving a good four feet between them when he finally stood still again. At least then he could try and run, even if he wouldn’t make it too far, both in distance and in life.

“Waiting for you to get out of your little bitch-cave, Stevie.” Billy spat out his name like it tasted bad, and his throat worked like there was more he had wanted to say but he’d elected to save it.

“If you’re going to hit me, can you just get it over with? You know coach doesn’t like to wait.” and he even braced himself, flattening his back against the lockers opposite Billy with his shoulders tensed, hands attached to the fabric of his shorts. Billy snorted and Steve watched him carefully, reading every inch he moved in any direction, and any way, as aggressive.

Billy said nothing and Steve quickly decided that it was the scariest thing he had ever done. He just stayed there, smirking at him and flexing his jaw like he warming up to stretch his mouth open and swallow Steve whole. But then he stood up and in a second he was stood in front of Steve, taking hold of his lower face with a tight grip and slamming the back of his head against the locker with a gratifying thump. Steve held his breath and puffed out his chest and just stared at Billy’s face like a deer in headlights, except this deer had three guns aimed at it’s head and one foot hovering just above a bear-trap.

“Why would I hit you, Stevie?” that name again, Steve’s stomach turned at the use of it and he bit down hard on the inside of his own lip, trying to keep from throwing up.

“Because you’re five different kinds of twisted in one fucked up head.” Steve didn’t realise the words had come from him until the fist connected with his gut and he felt his eyes roll back with the force of it, gasping as all the air was knocked from his lungs.

“Watch what you say, Harrington, you have no fucking idea what I am.” Billy pulled his head away from the locker only to slam it back again, and white spotted Steve’s vision as pain erupted from the back of his skull and he hissed in pain, wanting so desperately to clutch the back of his head in pain, but weighed up next to the fear that if he moves it’s going to happen again leaves it half as appealing as staying dead still and letting it fade naturally. 

Billy pushes his face so close to his that Steve can see each line in his irises, and he grits his teeth and stares Billy straight in the eyes as he waits.  _ He just fucking waits _ .

What else can he even do right now? All he can do is just bare his weight on the balls of his feet and act like he’s not terrified. But he is, and he knows Billy can smell the fear in the beads of sweat rolling down his face.

“If you knew what was good for you, Stevie”- that damn name again, Steve can taste bile on his tongue -“you would just bite your fucking tongue and walk yourself out of this school and  _ never _ come back. You don’t belong here anymore, don’t you get it? No one  _ fucking _ cares about Steve Harrington, useless hasbeen with no dreams, no future, and no mommy and daddy to tuck him in at night.”

With each word after useless Billy spat more venom, got closer, and bared more of his teeth. Soon enough he had his forehead pressed to Steve’s and Steve could smell the stale cigarette smoke on his breath and it was making him feel sicker than ever. In a split second’s decision he brought a knee up with as much force as he could muster, catching Billy between his thighs and taking the strength from his legs. Steve took off the second the hand was gone from his face, not out of the door but back towards the cubicles at the other end of the room. His knees slammed down so hard against the tiles that for a moment he forgot why he was here, cradling them with shaking hands until his stomach was in his mouth and he was over the bowl and retching up bile and acid and the tiny amount of toast he had crammed down his throat this morning. 

It tore his throat up and left his mouth aching, because his jaw had already hurt from how roughly Billy had been holding his face and each heave had snapped his mouth open and dropped his jaw further than it could handle right now. He had to keep reminding himself to breathe because every part of his brain was screaming at him to just stop, because each breath set his chest on fire and made the taste in his mouth three times as bad in half the time it took to fill his lungs. 

He could feel the looming presence of Billy behind him, in his rush he hadn’t closed the door, he wasn’t sure whether he was going to throw up again or if his heart was just going to stop for good; it was thumping against his chest right now, pounding in his ears.

But Billy just turned on his heels, the sound of rubber squeaking against the floor making the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stand on end almost painfully, and left. Steve felt his heart slow to beat in time to the pattern of Billy’s footsteps, body still anticipating some sort of backlash for his moment of bravery- no, stupidity -and as the door opened and shut he sat back on his heels and ran hands through his hair. His fingers tangled into the hair at the back of his head and stayed there, absently scratching his scalp as he counted to ten and let his stomach settle back into place. 

With each number he counted down he thought about Billy, about how his nostrils had flared when he had told Steve he knew nothing, about how deep he had dug his fingers into the flesh of Steve’s cheeks, and about how terrifying it must be in his head, trapped with whatever it was in there.

Even now his entire body was buzzing, adrenaline trying to decide whether he was running away or throwing fists, and where they not tangled in his hair he knew his hands would be shaking against his thighs. He was trapped on the edge of fear and the drop to calm was a long way down, he wasn’t sure if he was going to make it out of this alive, let alone okay enough to drag himself to his feet and walk out there like nothing had happened. If there was a way to switch grades to just avoid seeing Billy as much then Steve would jump at it, but he wasn’t smart enough to move up and he wasn’t dumb enough to get moved down; he was stuck under all definitions of the word.

But he couldn’t take this for much longer, always on edge, jumping at every sound for one reason or another, getting next to no sleep, and being constantly harassed by a boy a whole inch less in height but a whole lot more in strength and spite. 

He needed to get out, before it all killed him.


End file.
